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soft4gguk · 3 years

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to build a home | chapter ten

Pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

Genre: strangers to lovers. angst. fluff. smut.

Word count: 11k

Warnings: oof, i was in a mood when writing this so buckle up buckaroos. subby koo (boy of my dreams), soft dom reader, dry humping, oral sex (f & m), face sitting, orgasm denial, loads of dirty talk, spit bc im like that, its quite graphic (literally 5k of smut lol), protected penetrative sex!, there’s angst in this. lots of it. but also lots of love. soori turns 1!!!! best girl., i think that’s it :)

Author’s note: it’s finally here and this time i will keep it short because i truly don’t want to spoil anything. i do want to say thank you so much for waiting and for your sweet comments throughout my little brain fry – it truly means the world to me and kept me going like you’ll never know. i hope you enjoy, do let me know if you did <333 sending kisses n love, always! x

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Chapter Ten

We are creatures of habit and you could get used to this one. A tip toe away from your heart convincing your brain that you might as well rely on it – like a basic necessity, falling into the same category as many of the things that keep you going throughout the day. Much like the alarm clock that wakes you up every morning and the prospect of coffee that gets you out of bed. The days are long and growing up is no walk in the park so who are you to push away desire, the things that make a day worthwhile. Your favourite book, takeout in bed, reruns of that one show you’ve seen far too many times yet still holds that wow factor that keeps you coming back.

You look at him and he feels quite like everything that makes a day better.

We are creatures of habit yet we’re awfully spoiled. You believe you don’t need a revolution a day to make up a good life and when something is good – really good – it’s hard for it to lose its wonder.

How much warmth do we need to make a place a home? To put a person right where the heart wants it the most – right where all they come to resemble is that one thing that adds to your idea of vitality.

You’ve only woken up next to Jungkook twice yet the question answers itself as you take him in.

From the sheer blinds that cover his big windows, you can make out the first specks of dawn creeping in. The room is still dark but faint light casts shadows on his face – eyes gently shut, dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks, hair cascading on his forehead, slightly messy from sleep. His mouth forms a pout, lips still swollen from your own’s attack a couple of hours prior. His bare chest follows a steady rhythm, the rise and fall of his peaceful breathing almost lulling you back to sleep. He looks so beautiful, so gentle.

It hurts, to know he hurts.

It makes your heart seize, the idea of something draining that softness out of him, and before you can process the capacity of your feelings, you feel the sharp tinge of tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

The moments between sleep and consciousness are our most vulnerable and you believe you’ve fallen victim to what seeing him in his most vulnerable state can do to your heart.

Your body fights, demanding sleep, but your brain is wide awake, and your heart is, too. Your own vulnerability is snatched out of you as the sea of feelings that dawn upon you has you feeling more awake than you have in years. But the realization just waltzes into your mind with a new set of vulnerability – one that’s far more intrusive, loud. It’s not a characteristic of yours to stray away from the root of a feeling but this one finds you wanting to run. Not necessarily away from him, but far enough so that you can exhaust yourself back into a sleepy state – not so awake, nor aware. A place where feelings morph together, formless, no sharp edges to it. No reality or adversity. Just love.

Your hand moves slowly but there’s little power your brain has to go against the instinct that craves to touch him, feel his soft skin, the warmth he radiates when he’s in this state. The tip of your fingers run down his honey skin, from his forehead to his cheek. You can make out the way his face slightly contorts, frowning at the feeling yet falling into it as it relaxes again. It makes you smile. You brush a piece of fallen dark hair from his eyes that are still peacefully closed.

“You’re so beautiful,” your voice is faint, loud enough for only you to hear it.

And he is. He is beautiful. Every feature of his face, the moles you trace with your shaky fingers – a path of constellations you’d like to gaze at forever. The way his voice sounds, the ring of his laughter when it fills a room. You could get lost in the way he articulates words and on the endless stories he has to tell. There are so many things about Jungkook that have taken bits of your soul at grand scale, settling and making themselves a home. The way he cares is one of them. How despite his pain and the cards life dealt him, he never lost that softness for Soori – never became any less of the parent he always wanted to be. How every last bit of strength and warmth in his heart was reserved for her. How he let her heal him.

Your fingers trace a gentle pattern from his forehead, down his eyelids, past his cheeks, taking a brief detour to run a single one down the bridge of his nose until they finally land on his lips. Something settles inside your chest and you let a tear fall. You let yourself feel.

You’re in love with him.

It’s not abrupt – the way the thought finds you. It’s not loud, or aggressive. It doesn’t shock you nor does it surprise you. It’s gentle, like this morning. Like his steady breathing and his face as he dreams, eyes squinting slightly as he nuzzles his face against the pillow.

“Koo,” you call out his name, hand cupping his cheek.

He’s a heavy sleeper and you don’t know how much luck you’ll have in waking him up but you try – fingers tracing his ear, entwining with his locks of hair, caressing his scalp a little. Unconsciously, he keens into your touch, shoulders rising to his neck as little goosebumps form on his skin at the feel. You can see him fighting wakefulness, your fingers lulling him back into sleep as he gets used to them.

But you want his eyes on yours, desperately. So, you try again, another soft, “Koo,” passing your lips.

“Mm,” he murmurs, arm outstretching until its snaked around your waist. His eyes open quickly and his fatherly instincts have him reaching for the baby monitor.

“Shh, shh…” you soothe, bringing him back to you.

He settles back into the pillows, still half-asleep, eyes closing for a second too long as he asks, “what time is it?”

“Dunno. Early,” your fingers don’t cease their caresses through his hair and he smiles when they find the nape of his neck, soft warm skin against your fingertips.

He groans softly in pure bliss and as much as his brain stays in that subconscious place as sleep struggles to rid him of it, he can feel you. He can feel you and he likes it in a way he doesn’t think he could put words to even if he was fully conscious.

“Can I kiss you?” Your question puts a lazy grin on his face before they form a little pout.

“You don’t have to ask, baby.”

The hand that rests on your waist brings you closer to him, your own snaking itself around the back of his neck, noses touching until all it takes is a breath for his lips to be on yours – ever so slow, ever so indulgent as you let the kiss build momentum on its own. There’s no fixed agenda to the way you want to love on him and your lips mimic your thoughts in an uncoordinated, lazy dance. Your hand falls from his neck to his shoulders, pushing gently until your lips part and his back hits the mattress before you slowly swing a leg around his body, straddling him.

He’s naked under you and he hisses at the sudden contact, the feeling lulling your eyes closed as desire slowly pools in your lower stomach, settling promptly and spreading rapidly – a lingering buzz that dawns upon every inch of your body that wants him. His touch, his mouth, his tongue, his voice as he fucks into you.

“I’m up,” he says, eyes finally snapping open and taking you in. He’s not sure if his eyes are deceiving him but you could very well be an angel – the light that creeps past his blinds outlining every curve of your body in a perfect halo. “You’re so beautiful.”

His words are the exact same ones you murmured to him as he slept a couple of minutes prior and you smile, eyes still penetrating his – not shying away once.

“You’re hard.”

A roll of your hips takes the words right from his tongue, replacing them with a faint moan instead, head sinking into the pillow. His responsiveness only makes you that much eager, setting a steady rhythm as you grind your panty covered pussy into him, soaking the thin fabric as he grows to full mast between your folds. The swollen crown of his cock hits at your clit in perfect, repeated motions and the sweet whines that leave your lips land Jungkook straight into a speedy build up. His hands find your hips, grip tightening as he forces your movements to a halt.

“Ah-ah, baby. Slow down.”

“No.”

Your bluntness makes him let out a low chuckle. “I just woke up, it’s a foul. You’re at an advantage.”

“It’s fair play,” your words sync up with the way your hips sink into his once again, small hand traveling down until it lands where your bodies meet. Jungkook’s eyes widen as he takes in the way you push your panties to the side, not wasting a second as you resume your pace. His big cock sits snuggly between your plump folds and the visual alone has him rolling his eyes to the back of his head, a whine breaking in his throat as you begin to go faster.

He gives into it, not caring about how close he is to blowing his load like this, balls heavy as his release nears – the added pleasure of your ass grinding against them only making matters worse for him. His hands fall to your ass, squeezing tightly right in the place where his handprints form a faint shade of red on your skin – aiding the push and pull of your hips, encouraging you to go faster, taking control. And you let him have it. You let him get lost in how good you feel, in how much he wants to fuck you right now but won’t do it because he likes the sweet torture of feeling you like this – no barrier between you two, not nearly enough for how he wants you but enough to take him there.

“Fuck- you’re so fucking wet, baby.”

Your hands find leverage in his chest, palming at his pecs as your own pleasure takes over your every sense. Your clit throbs, pussy clenching around nothing as you circle your hips, the feeling so good it has your nails digging at his flesh. Your hands relax only to find his nipples, nails scraping gently at the hardened nubs. He hisses and you do it again, emitting a throaty moan from him. It draws him painfully close to the edge and his grip on your ass loosens, hands falling to your outer thighs – fingers kneading at the soft flesh.

“Shit- just like that. You’re gonna make me cum, angel.” His voice is raspy and you’re so very tempted to give him what he wants – what he needs the most.

But you don’t, hips raising quickly as your hand travels up, closing slightly around his neck.

“No.”

Everything about this moment throws Jungkook into a frenzied state of shock. His eyes open, widening slightly as your grip around his thick neck tightens – a growl escaping his lips as his orgasm is stripped away from him and a new wave of arousal threatens to break at his insides. He looks up at you, his breathing erratic, eyes glazy and sweat forming at the base of his forehead, matting his dark hair to his skin. Your free hand comes up, gently brushing the strands away and although the action is tender your gaze darkens, hovering over him in a way that has his breath hitching in his throat – something dropping in his lower stomach.

“I said it’s fair play,” you say. All he can do is gawk at you from his vulnerable position. “I want your mouth.”

“H-Have it,” his voice is shaky, faltered by his jumbled breathing.

Your grip around his neck loosens, but the one around his dark hair tightens – walking forwards on your knees, the mattress sinking the further you travel up his torso. Jungkook runs his tongue over his red lips, taking in his view – face to face with your clothed cunt, the soft skin above the hem of your panties so soft, the remnants of a tan casting a glow to your skin that makes it look golden in this light. From this angle, he can see the faint ink of that tattoo he loves so much – delicate like you, even in this forefront. His gaze travels upwards as you discard his oversized hoodie from your body, your soft breasts bouncing slightly as your hands come back down, fingers lacing through his hair.

“Come here,” he says, growing impatient – wanting to taste you.

“Ask nicely.” Your demand is firm, eyes fixed on his shaky ones.

“I want to taste you. Let me make you feel good- please.” He finally gives.

A hazy grin forms in your lips, expression fully lust driven as you walk your knees the extra inch until your pussy hovers over his face perfectly. His arms snake past your thighs, big hands resting over the flesh, pulling you towards him by the ass until his nose against your clit has you throwing your neck back over your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine.

You close your hand around a fistful of hair, pulling until he’s looking up at you – pupils blown, pleading. “Be good. Or you get nothing.” Your power trip takes the both of you by surprise but you don’t show it. He nods, a slight blush forming on his cheeks as he submits fully to you.

His tongue laps at your entrance over your panties, sloppily drenching the fabric further as he licks thick stripes down your center, nose teasing your clit as you draw slow circles with your hips – eyes closing at the feeling as tiny little whimpers leave your lips. Your fingers on his hair alternate between soft caresses and a tight grasp, seeking leverage as the pleasure picks pace inside of you. Your stomach tightens, hips bucking, giving into his incessant assault on your pussy, no hint of a doubt he could have you coming in your panties in a matter of seconds. But you need his tongue. Your fingers hook down the side of your panties, the feeling alone on the sensitive skin making you shiver. Lowering your hips to his face once again, you let his tongue continue his ministrations.

“So good, baby. That feels so good.”

Your praise incites him further, lips closing around your swollen clit, sucking with enough force to have your body jolting forwards, cheek flushed to his headboard as you let out cries of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s being. How good he’s making you feel.

The noises his actions ignite are obscene to say the least but it only adds to your pleasure. You’re so wet, it drives him insane. Tongue coming out past his chin, licking you clean only to resume that torturous suction on your clit – having you gushing out in seconds, juices slick, honey-like and coating his face from the nose down as he drinks you up. He wants every last bit, likes the effect he has on you.

He circles his tongue around your entrance, teasing a bit but not pushing his luck. The wet muscle finally pushes into your hole, shallow but determined strokes, his head moving to the rhythm as he fucks you with it. Your moans make his cock twitch, painfully hard and leaking pre-cum, making a mess out of his lower stomach. He groans, the sound resonating on your walls, his movements not faltering once – the tip of his nose hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves repeatedly until your legs begin to shake over him, thighs closing around his head.

“Oh my God- there. There. Don’t stop, Jungkook.” Your voice is airy, words getting lost in your whimpers and moans as he does just what you ask him. You look down at him, eyes closed, completely lost in your pleasure and his. Your knees begin to shake as you start to lose strength, your orgasm threatening to tip you over the edge and leave you a trembling mess. You tempt it with one last request. “Suck on my clit- Koo, fuck. I’m gonna cum, baby. I’m gonna-”

Jungkook moans. He moans as he sucks your clit, suctioning the little pearl inside his mouth, feeling you come undone – tongue coming out to lap at your entrance, revelling on the way your pussy pulses as you give into that explosion, coming totally undone on top of him. He opens his eyes, not wanting to miss the way your body shakes and your face contorts in pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your moans begin to faint as you come down, hips raising as you flinch in oversensitivity, a slight unconscious roll to them that has him flicking his tongue against your clit one last time. You look down at him, lopsided smile adorning your lips, a sheen layer of sweat covering your chest, down the valley between your tits.

“W-Was I good?”

“So, so good.”

You walk backwards, slower than you came up – legs still shaky from your orgasm. Jungkook only stares at you, slow blinks, a fucked-out gaze yet his mind is running in anticipation, wanting nothing more than your hands on him. His legs open, welcoming you in as you sit between them, discarding your ruined panties and throwing them aimlessly to the floor. He follows the trail of your movements, eyes glued to your hands as they travel up his muscular thighs until they’re a jerk of his hips away from landing where he wants you most. He stays still, but his cock twitches, landing back on his pelvis and making him hiss.

“You made a mess,” you say, index finger tracing the skin below his belly button, wetting it with the sticky pre-cum and bringing it to your mouth, past your lips, circling your tongue around it. You taste him, eyes closing for a brief second only to find his own shiny ones, big and doe like – eyebrows scrunched up as he dances the line between pleasure and pain.

“Please, ___.”

“Please what, Koo?”

“P-Please,” he whines, mind strained as he tries to collect his thoughts. “Touch me, baby. Please.” The last word is but an airy whisper and his pleads tug at your heart, his voice so sweet, demeanour so pliant. So surrendered to you.

You decide to give him a little say – a reward for putting full trust on you. Finger still hooked between your lips; you look up at him. “Do you want my mouth? Or my hands…,” the same wet finger travels down, tracing his shaft – making him buck his hips against it, the touch bordering on torturous, in need of friction. Your fingers travel to your pussy, his eyes following their every movement as they dive between your folds, collecting your slick before you circle them slowly against your clit. “My pussy?” Your voice makes him look back at your face, those same pleading eyes. “I’m so wet, Koo…”

“F-fuck- I can see that.” He muses, voice slightly cocky – too much for your liking, at least. You raise a brow at him, narrowing your gaze. “Your pussy, baby. Please let me fuck you.”

Your gaze darkens, eyes squinting slightly and your silence lets him know he’s walked himself into something he doesn’t think he’s able to sit patiently through.

Your body lowers, confirming his suspicions as you wrap your hand around his shaft, pumping as you circle your wrist – rapidly picking pace as your lips close around his head, tongue circling around it before you suck frivolously, not giving him time to settle into one feeling before you’re handing him another.

“Fuck- fuck. I’m gonna cum if you do that.” His tone hints panic, voice lilting at the end as it turns into a moan.

“You won’t.”

“Baby,”

You shoot him a wicked grin before your head lowers once again, resuming your diabolical blowjob that has Jungkook fighting with his own pleasure, his taut stomach muscles tightening as he focuses on his breathing, eyes closing and fingers pulling at his own hair, trying to ground himself. When you take him all the way in, throat closing around his crown, his fist closes around the sheets, knuckles turning white with force.

“Fuck my mouth, Koo. I want to feel you.” Your command is swift and when your eyes meet his he looks like he could cry at any moment, but nonetheless he obliges. So, so good for you as both his hands land gently at the sides of your face, caressing briefly before tightening his grip slightly. His hips push upwards, cock immediately hitting the back of your throat as you close it around his sensitive head. You’re prepared when he fucks into your mouth, gag reflex non-existent as you suction him in – the push and pull of his thrusts and your throat contracting around his dick, making Jungkook’s hands shake against your cheeks.

“C-Can’t- too much, please,” he cries.

Your mouth releases his cock from its tight grip, giving him a couple of languid pumps as your body climbs on top of his, lips finding his own for the first time in what feels like forever to Jungkook.

“I m-missed your lips.” His voice is soft, a combination of his state and the way your mouth feels on his – tender but full of intent, tongue dancing with his as you lean into the kiss, moaning as you taste him, you on him, him on you. The two of you together.

“They’re yours, baby.” Your touch is soft as you push his bangs away from his face, kissing his forehead gently. He whimpers, keening into your touch – his own lips forming a pout, placing a gentle kiss against your throat.

“I need you, please,” his lips travel down, hesitant and sweet, open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones “Want to feel you.”

“You will, Koo. You’ve been so good- made me feel so good, baby.”

He nods sheepishly at your words, eyes closing as you plant one last kiss to his cheek before you’re reaching to his bedside table for a condom. He whines a little at the loss of proximity, wanting your body. Needing to feel you however he can have you. He’s been patient – too patient.

“How do you want me?” You ask, bringing the foil package to your teeth and ripping it open. It takes him awhile to process your question, eyes fixed on your mouth, mind lost in finally having you. You want nothing more than to please him, to follow his every wish.

“Like this. Ride me baby, please.”

And he’s just so polite, his voice so quiet, a little timbre to it – a little shake. So overwhelmed and drawn over the edge. He’s all for you, wanting to give himself to you entirely. He wants to be held, wants to see you as you fuck him – wants it slow. He just wants you.

You comply, straddling his lap once again as you roll the condom on. You’re more than ready to take him, your slick running down your inner thighs and making a mess out of his. But nonetheless, you’re used to the stretch of his fingers and his swollen cock looks intimidating right now. You lower your head, collecting saliva in your mouth before you let it fall, slowly landing on the tip of his cock, making him hiss.

“You’ve been so good, Koo. So good for me. I want you so fucking bad.”

Jungkook nods at your words, a small whine leaving his swollen, bitten red lips. His big eyes are glassy, shaky hands gently grabbing at your hips, bringing your body closer to his. His touch isn’t firm, no set pace to his actions – he’s completely given up to you. Let you claim him, have him. And perhaps this is your way to seal the sea of feelings that you wish you could speak. Your own way of telling him I want you to be mine.

You stare at him, his big expectant eyes looking up at you as if you held the secrets to the most precious resolutions of the world. His touch feels like burning coal on your skin, velvety yet fiery – so beautifully dangerous. You stroke his cheek, your own actions as gentle as his.

“You’re so beautiful, Jungkook.” He shies at your praise, cheeks tinting a soft red, a lopsided smile forming at his lips before he draws them in-between his teeth, biting slightly as his eyes follow the movements of your body. You reach for his cock, pumping once, twice before you align him to your dripping cunt, teasing yourself a little as you roll your hips. He moans, the sensitive tip grazing your clit a couple of times before you’re finally sinking your hips into his, taking him all the way in at once.

“Shit, shit- gahh, baby- you’re so tight.”

“Jungkook,” his name is a moan, leaving your pouty lips and hitting him straight where he wants you most.

“Mm- ff-fuck. Please, baby- fuck me.”

You comply. You give him what he wants because he’s everything you want. Your hands palm at his chest, feeling his heartbeat on your flesh, finding leverage on his firm muscles as you begin the sweet push and pull of your hips. Your eyes never once break away from his, fighting to stay open as he lets pleasure take over him – the feeling of your snug walls around his swollen cock so overwhelmingly good. He’s been on edge for longer than he can find sane words to describe but having you like this makes him want to delay his release for as long as he can. He wants to see you, feel you for a while longer.

You raise your hips until it’s just his crown being swallowed by your pussy, pulsing uncontrollably as you try to bring yourself down – ever so close to the edge, too. Jungkook wants to touch you, run circles with his thumb over your clit, feel how wet you are, have you coming undone over him, around him. Your breath is shaky already and he wants to hear you – to know just what he does to you. But he doesn’t. He lets you see what you do to him, lets you bask on the notion that the effect you have on his body is like nothing he’s experienced before.

He cries when you take him all the way in once again, so deep and forceful his eyes win the fight, shutting close as his back arches, head sinking into the pillows as he feels that steady climb. It feels so good – you feel so good, his eyes prickle with tears, erratic puffs of air leaving his mouth as you ride him faster.

“Feel good, Koo?”

“Yes. Yes, that feels s-so- good. Fuck, ___.”

“I’m so close, baby – fuck me please.”

At your request, he does just that. His feet push into the mattress, his grip on your hips tightening just enough so that he can keep you still as he begins to thrust, cock pistoning into you. You feel so full, mind hazy and knees weak as he hits that spot inside of you repeatedly – not faltering once, putting all the energy he’d been saving into ripping that explosion inside of you. He bites his lips, brows furrowed, eyes on a back and forth between revelling on the way your bodies connect and your bouncing tits above him. Your plump pussy lips are swollen, hugging his cock perfectly. All of you is so fucking perfect.

“Let me touch you, baby. Please let me make you cum,” he asks, voice soft, big eyes pleading and you can only nod your head once – not a single inch of space inside your brain for anything but him and how good he feels inside of you.

His thumb lands on your clit, slipping a few times and he moans over how much you’re dripping around him. He draws tight little circles around your nub and it’s a matter of seconds before you feel that pressure in your lower stomach, hips bucking and legs closing in around him.

“Fuck- I’m gonna cum, Koo. I’m gonna cum,” your high-pitched moans fill the room, a string of yes following as his thumb moves faster, swiftly until the world stops for about a second and you cum – hard and loud around his cock.

“Fuck- yes, baby- yes.” He praises between gritted teeth.

Your head is foggy, limbs weak as you ride the last remnants of your orgasm, gathering in your last stretch of strength as you take a hold of both his wrists, pushing them away from you and pinning them against the mattress. You sit on his cock until he bottoms out, not moving, just letting him feel your walls clench around him. He whimpers, whole body shaking slightly as goosebumps form on his skin, turning his head from you as he lets out a moan.

“Look at me.”

You roll your hips once, clenching around him deliberately and he does – he looks at you, so utterly fucked out, so pushed to his very own limit he can’t even find coherent words, just a soft whisper of your name. You start moving, fucking him again – full control as all he can do is stare at you. You kiss those soft little whines from his lips, tongue licking at his until he’s hissing, his senses so powered up every touch feels like fire on his skin. Another roll of your hips throws him dangerously close to the edge, a loud cry passing his lips, falling straight into your mouth.

“I’m gonna- please let me cum. Please, baby, I’m-”

He’s so sweet, and ever so yours, to deny him.

You kiss him once more, short but deep before you say, “cum for me, Koo. Let go.”

And all it takes is your honeyed words and lips on his once again as you kiss him for him to finally hand all power back to his body as he cums hard, spilling into the condom as you still your movements, feeling the way he throbs, the warmth. You bite on his bottom lip, swallowing his moans as his body jerks and shakes under you, riding the final seconds of his orgasm, longer than expected, taking you both by surprise.

“Oh, fuck…” he says, head spinning. He feels exhausted, fighting with the oversensitivity, not strong enough to move or pull away. Enjoying the feeling of your body on top of his as you relax against him.

You pull away, rolling to the side until your back hits the mattress. You look at him, hand outstretching as your fingers lace themselves in his hair, giggling as the touch makes him shiver.

“That was so good.”

He looks at you, shiny eyes and lazy smile – so dreamy.

“I’m glad you sought justice.”

You laugh. “Fair-play.”

He bites his lip, gaze darkening. “Fair play.”

Jungkook’s fingers tap mindlessly to the beat of the music coming from the stereo. One of his hands grips the steering wheel firmly and the other sits between your legs, snaked around your inner thigh as he squeezes. You’re singing along, head leaning from side to side to the rhythm. He turns to you for a brief second, smiling. Your eyes are glued to the view ahead as you enter his parent’s posh neighbourhood. It’s quiet and serene, in perfect tune to what characterizes places like this on a Saturday.

The trees are green and full, the fences tall, keeping the houses out of reach from the world – each its own little bubble. You can tell its old money, vintage cars adorning the classic architecture of the houses. It’s different from Jungkook’s neighbourhood – more intimidating and secluded.

“Did you grow up here?”

“Mhm,” he says, thumb gently caressing the soft skin of your thigh.

“Did you have neighbourhood friends?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Jin and Jiminie lived a couple of blocks away from me.”

“Did you decorate for Halloween?”

He frowns at your question. “Mm, nothing too extravagant. Just your standard.”

“That’s sad. This place has a lot of potential.”

He throws his head back, laughing at your remark. “Soori was very little last year but, I want to dress her up this year. Take her trick or treating or something. She’ll probably be walking by then.”

Your eyes widen in excitement, clapping your hands as you say, “oh, oh, oh! Halloween’s my favorite holiday. Christmas, too. And Valentine’s Day. Easter’s always fun, too.”

“That’s all the holidays, baby.”

“I’m not picky.” You say, smiling and entwining your fingers in his. “What are you going to dress her up as?”

Jungkook drives up his parent’s entryway, retrieving a small remote control that opens the tall gates.

“I don’t know yet,” he ponders for a minute before he turns to you, “maybe you can help me?”

You look at him, big smile forming on your lips as you nod excitedly. “My pleasure.”

The gates open and your mouth gapes, gawking in awe at the sight before you. A French Renaissance style home, cream walls and dark ceilings making up its tall structure. Big windows adorn the walls, framing the tall entrance. A beautifully sculpted garden of red roses and green bushes open way for its magnificence.

“Woah,” you whisper.

“They’re minimalists.” Jungkook teases, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Can’t believe you grew up in an actual Chateau.” You say, making him chuckle once again.

“I’ll be right back, baby.” Jungkook’s soft lips peck your cheek loudly, making you giggle before you nod.

He smiles, taking one last look at you before he’s exiting the car, walking towards his parent’s front door. It’s a hot summer day and he knows they’re going to be making the most of it, probably having breakfast by the sun in the garden.

He enters their home, pace picking up as he makes his way to the backyard. He can make out the smell of freshly squeezed orange juice and sweet pastries coming from the kitchen, slightly enticing. He wishes he could stay – with you. Eat breakfast with his parents, have them get to know you. If they knew you, really knew you, they’d like you. His father already does, although he’s not so sure how fondly he’d feel of the fact that you’ve grown close enough to comfort to his family. To him and Soori. An unconscious frown adorns his face. Out of all the things he worried about when it came to you, his parents’ opinion was never one. He realizes he might’ve given himself a mental hall pass, having too much on his mind to give it a second thought. After all, Jungkook had set flight on his own at an early age - claiming independence, an unspoken deal between the three of them.

His father had realized his potential, being their only child and chance at keeping The West End a family affair. But Jungkook was far too in tune with his own sense of self – ‘head in the clouds’ his mom would say, condescending, but in her language, a soft way to justify his ways. So, they’d seen eye to eye – he’d take over the business, making use of that innate talent his father had seen in him. And in return, they’d let him do it with passion – his way.

So far, the deal had worked. Jungkook was the man his father had envisioned him as, in surface. An extraordinary CEO, capable of running the business and making it soar to grounds above. Bringing freshness and new approaches to it, something they both deemed important. Not only that but he was a great father, a family man. With these two covered, there was little say they had in his life – another thing all parties involved were aware of.

But what’s so rebellious about the life Jungkook had lived until now? The modern and envied cookie cutter outcome of socialites. He met a beautiful girl and established a serious relationship. They both built respectable names for themselves, a society. The infamous power couple title that was bestowed upon them by the back and forth gossip their relationship brought into their radius. They had a baby, built a family, became the dream of many and set themselves for a destined future together. His parents never dared have a say because there was nothing to object. He’d landed right where he ‘belonged’, as ironic as it sounds.

You go against the morale of everything that his destiny deems to be the right path. It’s the cliché that could land him in misinterpretations if exposed to the public – the love affair with the nanny, younger than him, from a different ‘world’. The thought alone aggravates him, growing defensive over the possibility of anyone putting an adjective that you don’t deserve over your name.

A new set of fears occur him. You are not where his doubt lays – at this point, saying he’s not sure of how important you’ve become in not only his but his daughter’s life would be hypocritical towards himself, a self-inflicted lie. A defense mechanism. It’s the easiest way out, but also the most painful. When he walks towards you in the wake of uncertainty, he feels safe.

What makes him doubt is the side effect, what it would entail for you. You’re so young, so full of life. Would he ever be able to take on the guilt of stripping you off your freedom in the name of what Jungkook feels brewing in his chest.

In the name of something that feels awfully close to love.

His pondering is cut short as he finally reaches the open doors that lead to the garden.

“Darling!” His mother chirps, cup of coffee in hand as she beckons to him.

Soori squeals, jumping excitedly in her high chair, the same one he used to sit on when he was her age. It’s a bit of a relic and a mixture of nostalgia and the soothing feeling that settles upon him when he sees her makes him smile.

“Good morning,” he says, walking straight towards Soori. “Hi, princess. I missed you, baby.” He undoes the straps that restrain her, chubby hands excitedly reaching for him. Once she’s finally in his arms, he brings her closer, placing a loud kiss on her cheek. And then another, repeating the action until she’s squirming, pushing him away as she giggles. He smells her hair, takes a good look at her. He missed her. “How was she?”

“Delightful.” His father says, eyes leaving the newspaper he’s holding for the first time since Jungkook stepped inside veranda.

“Mrs. Lee just changed her. She’s inherited your appetite, honey. Table manners, too.” His mom adds, shaking her head.

“That’s my girl.” Jungkook says, kissing Soori’s cheeks once again.

“Sit down, son. We’ve set up a place for you.” His father tells him, eyes back on his paper as he motions to the chair at the far end of the table.

“Thank you, but I gotta run.”

“You do not, darling. It’s a Saturday.”

“___’s waiting for us in the car.”

He could’ve made up any excuse but he decides to test the waters. His boldness takes everyone in the table by surprise.

His father’s eyes are back on him. “Why’s that?”

“She’s Soori’s nanny.”

“I thought you mentioned she didn’t work on weekends.” His mother muses.

He doesn’t have to lie; he knows this much. More importantly, he doesn’t want to lie. But he can’t find words to explain either. It’s then that he realizes that he’s grown feelings for you that are more complex than he’d originally thought. Complex enough to explain to himself, let alone to other people.

Not to mention his parents.

So, Jungkook lies.

“I’m working today.”

At this, the tension in the room dissipates. But it only grows stronger inside Jungkook’s chest. His mother nods, humming in acknowledgment. His father’s gaze fixes back to the news, silent for a moment before he adds: “Don't work on weekends unless it’s outmost necessary, son.”

“Noted.” He affirms.

“Come by for lunch tomorrow?” His mother approaches them, giving Soori a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Sure, I’d love that, mom.” She pats him on the cheek, walking him to the front door to see the two of them off.

Once they make it to the tall wooden doors, she pauses, hesitating for a moment as he swings them open. She looks at you, eyes fixed downwards as you wait patiently, sat in the passenger’s seat.

“How old is she?” His mother asks.

“Huh?” Jungkook says, turning to look at her, confusion lacing his features until he follows her line of vision and his eyes land on you. “Oh. Uh- she’s twenty-three.”

“Awfully young.” Her tone is soft, strikingly contrasting her words.

“Yeah.”

“She must need the money. To be working weekends, I mean.”

Jungkook stares at his mother, his eyes trying to fish for something that would give away the motives of her small talk away. He finds nothing, just contemplation. Nonetheless, her tone is suggestive enough to make him feel defensive.

“Anything wrong with that?”

She turns to him, silent for a brief second as she takes him in. “No. Don’t overwork her, that’s all.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“Noted.” He returns it.

Soori’s tiny fist grips tightly to your index and middle finger, her other holding tightly to her dad’s thumb. Her steps intercalate with short little jumps here and there as she grows excited. Jungkook bends a little, trying to follow her pace and you do the same – the three of you surrounded by the tall bookshelves that make up the library. It’s empty and a peaceful silence fills the walls, only broken by Soori’s unintelligible babble. But she only adds to the peace, sweet coos warming your heart as she looks around her and smiles at nothing in particular – just taking the world in.

It’s still fifteen minutes until book club and you’ve spent the past ten minutes just like this. So far, this one dates to one of your favourite Saturdays of the Summer, only dethroned by the one that landed Jungkook in one of these same hallways. The Saturday he kissed you.

“I love today.”

You’re sincere, always speaking your mind. Jungkook can almost predict when you’re about to do so – taking in the way you contemplate, dreamy sighs passing your lips, a softness to your eyes that he can only mimic.

“Me too.”

“Thank you.”

He stops in his tracks, looking up at you. “You don’t have to thank me, baby.”

“I want to.”

He loves that about you.

“Hey, what are you doing after? We can wait around in the area and then go get some pizza once you’re done? Mai, Tae and Dae can come with.”

“I’d love that, Koo.”

“Perfect, baby.”

He leans closer to you, still in that bent over position and it makes you giggle. He narrows his eyes at you for a second before that signature pout shapes his lips. His eyes close in anticipation. You kiss his cheek instead.

“Excuse me,” he begins, eyes opening, gasping in mock shock.

You look at him, no longer laughing but simply taking him in. Your smile speaks words that he can’t hear, yet he feels them.

You tell him anyways.

“I like you so much, Jungkook.”

He straightens, taking Soori in his arms, bouncing her on his hips as she mewls, displeased at being back in the air.

“___,” he holds your gaze, his own avalanche of feelings breaking in his chest. So much to say, so little words he can find. He wonders how something so soft can produce such great fears inside of him. He sighs, finding a middle ground. “I like you, too.”

It’s the truth.

But not the whole truth.

You smile at Soori as she hands you one of her blocks, taking it from her and when you do, she grabs a hold of another one and proceeds to do the same. You put them in one of her baskets, tidying up after a day of, you will admit, mostly playing. She deserves it – it is her birthday tomorrow after all.

“Thank you, Soo,” you coo at her as she hands you another block. She smiles, seemingly proud of herself, babbling a response your way. “You’re such a big girl. Don’t tell daddy, though.”

“Dada?” She chirps excitedly, head turning frantically towards the front door as she scans the space for him.

“Not yet, baby. Soon though! Let’s finish cleaning.”

She just stares at you, confused for a second but then back to her smiling self, passing you more toys so that you can put them away. She’s so smart – quick for her age and overall, the best baby. You love her so much.

You can’t help but think about that conversation you had with Mai during the hotel inauguration – back when Jungkook was an enigma you were yet to decipher. How she’d told you how Soori was everything good about him. How she perfectly mirrored all his goodness. You look at her now, thinking about him. They’re everything there is to love.

They’re the extra in the ordinary.

So easy to fall for.

The front door swings open, making Soori squeal in excitement, falling to the floor from her standing position against the coffee table. She begins to crawl, attempting to round the sofa and getting frustrated halfway.

You pick her up, holding her in your arms as you walk towards the doorway. “Come on, baby. Let’s say hi to daddy, yeah?”

She claps her hands in excitement, outstretching them towards Jungkook as soon as she sees him. He smiles, warm relief swarming his inside as he sees her.

“Hi, princess. Missed you.”

She falls to his arms, a muffled Dada leaving her tiny lips as he kisses her cheeks with enough force to squish them.

“How was your day,” you ask him.

He mimics his previous actions, holding your face in his hands, squeezing gently as he kisses your cheek.

“Hi, baby. Missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” You blush, never fully getting used to him coming home.

To him coming home to you.

“It was good – happy the week’s over, though. What about yours? Did you two have fun today?” He looks at Soori, bouncing her a little until she’s letting out those soft baby giggles he loves so much.

“Yep. Had the best day ever. We just played.”

You sound genuinely excited and it makes his heart skip a beat – making him melt a little.

“That’s good. A fun last stretch before she’s one,” he kisses her chubby cheeks again.

You squeal in excitement. “I can’t wait.”

Jungkook simply smiles, a fond expression to his face as he looks at his daughter. But his eyes say more than he lets out – his passive demeanour alerting you that something’s on his mind.

“Hey, what are you two doing tonight?” You ask him, brushing Soori’s silky hair from her face. She needs a haircut.

“Mm, didn’t have many plans. Some dinner, maybe a movie.”

His tone is nonchalant but your question weighs heavy on him.

All week had been filled with excitement leading up to Soori’s first birthday – a milestone that they’d both reached. It made him feel proud, not only making it this far but also seeing how perfect his daughter was. In every sense – how she grew and developed new skills every day. Soori was everything Jungkook dreamt of when the first idea of her blossomed in his heart. But this moment wasn’t.

It’d hit him – slowly like painful things often do. You’re envisioning a certain scenario, some mundane and ordinary in nature and then reality settles upon you like an unwelcomed guest that you have to entertain for the sake of nothing that’s justifiable. He didn’t have to entertain the feeling further – simply realizing that Ira wouldn’t be here to witness her first birthday could’ve been enough. But one intrusive thought led to the other, undoing the tight knot he’d wrapped around the part of his heart that still hurt for her.

It was a domino effect, one realization after the other. He thought about him and Soori sat in front of her birthday cake, smiling. How that’d be the family picture that would characterize that day. He wondered if she’ll ask about it when he handed her the box of polaroid’s he’d been collecting with her every milestone. He thought about the way he’s now Dada to her, pained with the idea that soon enough she’ll have to learn Mama. It angered him, how the word felt so empty in comparison to his.

The idea of missing from Soori’s life terrified him. He wanted to be there for her. Birthdays, first days of school, first words and steps. Graduations and celebrations – he felt the vital need to be there. He couldn’t grasp his head around the idea of Ira not wanting the same.

Thinking of his daughter, Jungkook realized that he was enough for her. But in moments like these he felt like his love was scarce. Like his voice was too quiet as he walked her through life.

Four months ago, he thought his plans today would consist of reminiscing on his daughter’s first year of life. Being stripped of that weighs heavy on him.

“Why don’t you two come over for a little bit? Lucy made lasagna and I heard they’re dyeing Jimin’s hair back to black, or at least attempting to.”

Jungkook stares at you, slightly confused as to how you always manage to make him come afloat when that heaviness makes him feel like he’s sinking. How you make him feel like he can breathe.

He hesitates for a second and you almost think of saying something along the lines of it’s cool if not though, don’t worry but you realize how silly that would sound, so you stand your ground; big eyes looking up at him, smile still on your face.

He looks down at Soori who smiles at him. “Yeah, we’d love that.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeek, baby!” Lucy claps her hands together at the sight of a very giggly Soori, still in her father’s arms as the three of you enter the apartment.

“Soo-Soo!” Jimin comes out of the bathroom, a clear shower cap over his head as he lets the dye settle into his hair.

“You’re a toxic hazard, no getting close to baby.” Lucy says, shoving a hand in his chest and pushing him back. She looks up at Jungkook. “Hi. Can I hold her?”

Jungkook stares at Soori and then back up at her. “Hi. Uh- yeah, sure.”

Soori’s comfortable in Lucy arms, loving the excitement she feels at seeing her – simply basking in the love and attention. It’s so easy, so simple to love her. It makes Jungkook’s heart soothe itself slightly, the idea that the world sees that gentleness in her that he loves so much.

“Can she eat lasagna?”

Lucy’s question makes him chuckle. “Yeah. Just- tiny pieces.”

“Tiny pieces for the tiny baby, gotcha.”

Without wasting another second, she walks towards the kitchen, proceeding to plate it in a small bowl for her.

“We should probably keep an eye out – this place is not babyproof and neither is Lucy.” You say, eyes on them like a hawk.

Jungkook smiles. “She’ll be fine.”

“Do you want lasagna?”

He nods. “Yeah, baby. Thank you.”

You give him a nod and a smile, heading to the kitchen to help Lucy out. Jungkook heads to the bathroom, a frowning Jimin inspecting the DIY dye job he and Lucy had done. There’s still patches of bleached hair, even miscellaneous strands of pink here and there. Jungkook chuckles, hands inside his pockets as he takes his friend in.

“What’s so funny” Jimin sneers when he notices him.

“You? Duh.”

“Duh- what are you? Twelve?”

“Twelve-year-old me could’ve done a better job than that.” Jungkook says, tilting his chin towards his hair.

“Ha-ha, very clever.”

“In fact, twelve-year-old me probably did. Here, sit down.”

Jimin sits down on the toilet seat, eyes following Jungkook as he steps inside the small bathroom. A heart-shaped magnet holds a polaroid of you and Lucy, bright smiles adorning both your faces. It makes him grow soft. He proceeds to put gloves on, hands giving the bleach a mix before he walks towards his friend – inspecting the damage done and crafting a solution.

“How are you?” Jimin asks.

“Me? Fine. Why?” Jungkook doesn’t look at him, eyes fixated on his hair as his fingers move through the strands of hair.

“Because I’ve known you for far more years I wish to at times, dumbass. And if you’re not fine, it’s okay.”

He looks down at Jimin, a snarky remark threatening to leave his lips just so he can cover the sadness that takes over him when reminded of why his friend's sixth sense is ticking. But he’s too tired to pretend.

“She’s turning one tomorrow.”

“Nostalgic or… something else?”

“Something else. Or maybe nostalgic, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia for something I won’t have. She won’t have.”

“Gguk. Soori has an army of people that love and adore her. Tomorrow’s going to be special. And fun. And she won’t remember anything but we’ll make sure to tell her just how happy she was. How happy we all were.”

Jungkook nods, a faint smile on his lips. “Yeah.”

“And don’t you dare for a fucking minute think you’re not enough for that little girl. Or that she would’ve done any better.”

He looks down at him, confused at his sudden change in demeanour.

“I know that. Soori doesn’t. Or- she won’t. In the future, I mean.”

“That’s far from now, Gguk. I get it- or well, I try to. I understand where you’re coming from. Maybe I see things with a bigger perspective, maybe being on the outside looking in allows me to make things simpler than they are. But I think you need to hear simple answers to the harshness you’re putting on yourself. You love Soori. You’re her world. You need to start understanding that that is the root of all things. That as hard as the road gets, if you have that, wherever it takes you it will be enough.”

Jungkook thinks of the first time he saw his daughter, of all the unspoken promises he made to her when he held her tiny body in his arms. That incessant need he had to make the world a good place for her – even if he could only do with so much. He now realizes that that promise had kickstarted something inside of him. Something that made him softer, more vulnerable. A thing that only grew with her.

He thinks of you. Of his feelings for you that oftentimes feel like a road with a destination he can’t attest for – a place within him he’s never explored before. But he knows that the beginning of it was pure, a thing you would perhaps call love. A thing that only grows, too.

You knock on Jungkook’s doorbell, taking a step back and waiting for the door to swing open. You fidget in place, in half excitement and half nerves. Your pink sundress blows in the wind slightly – it’s a perfect summer day, in tune with the perfect summer baby that you can’t wait to cuddle in what you hope is a matter of minutes. You’re carrying a medium-sized pink box, a white ribbon around it, tied in a perfect knot at the top – her birthday present.

The door swings open, a big smile taking over your face immediately at the sight of Soori and Jungkook. He looks at you, takes you in. Your pretty pink dress and white converse. He looks down at Soori, smiling. Your eyes grow shiny at the sight of her. She’s wearing a one-shouldered baby pink tulle dress, a pink bow wrapping around the middle like she’s by far the best present at this birthday party. Hint: she is. She jumps in her dad’s hold excitedly, swinging her little feet back and forth, white converse on hers, too.

You put the box on the floor for a brief moment and right as you come back up, she free-falls into your arms, taking both you and her dad by surprise. She screams, loud giggles leaving her lips at being with you again.

“Happy birthday, bub.” You hold her to you, cheek to cheek, so tight but she lets you cuddle her – something that has become a rare occurrence with most people nowadays. You look up at Jungkook, smiling softly when you say, “and happy first year as a dad, Koo.”

He doesn’t think about it twice, doesn’t double check his surroundings to make sure nobody’s looking. He simply takes one step forwards and wraps you in his arms, Soori included. He hugs you, breathing in your scent, just letting himself enjoy how happy he is to see you – all smiles and party ready, accidentally matching with Soori.

“Thank you for coming.” He means it. Not as a formality, but from a place that acknowledges the comfort that settles through him.

“Thank you for having me.” Your gratitude doesn’t come from formalities either.

“Come in. You hungry? There’s a hot dog stand. Soo already had two.”

“All by herself?” You coo, baby voice on.

“Mhm,” he assures.

“Seriously can’t wait for you to talk, baby girl.”

Jungkook laughs at this, hand softly placed on your back as he walks you towards the backyard.

It’s a safari dreamland – all pink, gold and brown. Balloons taking over the space in various forms and shapes, a tepee at the very back with various animal statues sat at the front – a zebra, an elephant and of course, a giraffe, so realistic you can barely believe your eyes. Her cake sits proudly on a table, a three-piece wonder, courtesy of Lucy, surrounded by delicious looking pastries all matching the décor. Her name sits on top of the cake in blue candied syrup letters: Soori.

“Your wedding is going to have competition, Miss Blue.”

“Oof,” Jungkook says, hand on his heart as he sighs dramatically. “One big day at a time.”

You laugh. “Sorry, sorry. This is amazing, Koo. You’re-”

“What?”

It takes you a minute to answer. “The best. You’re the best dad.”

“Thank you. That means… a lot. Specially today.”

“Not just because of- all this,” you say, “but because she’s perfect, Jungkook. She’s perfect and she’s all you. You did this.”

Jungkook’s face is as serene as ever, small smile forming at his lips. But his heart is going places, an erratic beat to it that forms specks of something so warm inside of him – bursting rapidly, flowing through his every being until it’s leaving his lips.

“You too.”

You turn to him, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“You take care of her. But you do more than that and… I’m grateful. I see her in you. I like seeing her in you.”

Your brain tries to compute words but fails, not being able to think of an answer rather than I love her. I love you. That’s the more than that that he refers to: love.

“I-”

“___!” Mai’s voice startles you, making you jump slightly. She smiles at you, Kenny at her side, smiling too.

“Hi guys,” you say, regaining your composure and steading your heart that had grown frenzied just a couple of seconds ago.

“It’s so good to see you again, ___.” Kenny adds, taking Soori in her arms as she reaches for her. Once she’s finally settled, she looks back at you, changing her mind and going back to you. You take her in your arms, making everyone laugh. “She loves you.”

“Oh, like crazy.” Mai says.

You smile. “It’s nice to see you guys, too.”

She loves you.

Like crazy.

It echoes in Jungkook’s head, louder and louder with each passing second.

Soori’s eyes are a carbon copy of her dad’s. Big and doe like. They get puffy underneath when she smiles, just like right now. So shiny they look glassy as she claps to the beat of the people that love her the most singing her happy birthday. She struggles to keep focus on just one thing – eyes zooming from her cake and bright candles to every single person that surrounds the table. She finds your eyes, smiling just like hers and she giggles. She has no idea what’s going on but she loves it. She enjoys the love, the smiles of everyone on her. You’re far away – too far away and she doesn’t know better than associate you with happy moments.

Her arms reach for you, hands opening and closing in grabby motions, whining a little when all you do is wave and smile. Jungkook looks down at her and then at you. You give him a crooked smile, chuckling a bit at her insistence. When everyone breaks out in cheers, clapping loudly, her attention goes back to the crowd. She giggles, clapping along, too.

Jungkook kisses his daughter’s cheek, bringing her closer to him. His voice is a whisper only for her to hear when he says, “happy birthday, princess. Make a wish.”

They lean closer to the cake, his hand gently keeping her from getting too close to the flame.

It’s her wish but he makes it for her.

He doesn’t see it but you’ve got his polaroid ready, finger on the shutter, pushing into it at the most perfect time – big smiles adorning both their faces as they look at each other, ready to blow her candles. He does it for her, another round of applause and coos following, making Soori jump excitedly. She’s so happy, so full of love and life it gives Jungkook just that.

He looks over at you, finding your eyes with his own, his smile only growing bigger when he sees you. You shake the camera in your hand, showing it to him. He mouths a thank you and you wink. Soori finds you, too, whining and squirming until you’re walking closer to her. She falls in your arms once again and points to her cake, determined in having you see it even though she’s being swarmed with kisses and praises by her honorary aunts and uncles – all the people that took part in her first year of life.

It’s picture perfect. More so from afar.

Jungkook’s parents stand at a far end corner of the table, smiles on their faces as they see the moment unfold. They’re not very sentimental people yet they both acknowledge they managed to make just that. It fills them with pride and something they’d never thought they’d experience when Jungkook first came into the world.

He emits warmth – even to them.

“You were right.”

His father’s tone holds that stern nonchalance that characterizes him.

“Mhm,” his mother’s gaze doesn’t falter once. She nods, a tight-lipped smile on her lips as she focuses on you. Her granddaughter in your arms, her son smiling as she feeds Soori a piece of cake. She feels the flash go off before she sees your startled expressions, looking around until she catches Taehyung at the opposite side of the table, shaking the polaroid of you three he’d taken. “What are we going to do about it, darling?”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“No more suffering.” She turns to her husband whose eyes remain on his son. “I want to be there, too.”

“You bend too much for him. Always have.”

“He’s been through enough.”

“Yet he’s walking himself into another mess.”

Jungkook’s mother sighs.

“Head in the clouds, always.”

His father nods. “I’ll draw sense into him.”

He fixes his tie, a curt smile on his face as he rounds the table, walking towards his son.

“Hey, hey- wait! This one’s a bit blurry. Let’s take another one. Smileeeeee!”

Soori’s in your arms and she follows Taehyung’s command, big smile plastered on her face, flashing her perfect set of teeth top and bottom. Her cheeks grow puffy, eyes barely closed with how big she’s smiling. You turn towards the camera, mimicking her actions.

Jungkook does the same, standing behind Soori and leaning his chin on top of her head. She lets out a breathy giggle, taking the two of you by surprise, looking down at her lovingly in perfect sync just as Taehyung takes the picture.

He looks at you and the words that have been echoing inside his mind the whole day take on a new form.

He loves you.

Like crazy.

And picture-perfect captures just that.

yeah.

yup!

let me know what you guys thought! i love talking to you guys and i feel like this one’s going to stir some (healthy!) conversations. thank u for all the love and support and for being here, enjoying my lil story. i love u guys sm. i’m sending kisses and infinite love your way <3 xx.

★ taglist ★

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Anything at All (boba fett x fem!reader) (part one) (part two)

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: smut, even mORE thrONE fucking, oral sex (f receiving), boba’s a biter, unprotected sex (dont be silly, wrap thAT wiLLY), vaginal fingering, explicit language, boba is a grouchy dom kwjhgjh

a/n: anyway I think yall forget im a writer and not just a Certified Clown, but anywAy here we be. HAPPY NEW YEARS ya FILTHY anIMALS im so thankful for all yall and im glad I can provide you with some entertainment kaejhejhr

You haven’t seen Boba Fett in days.

Called away on business you’ll never be included in or know the fine details about. It’s not kept away from you because he doesn’t trust you, or thinks you’re a mindless idiot—no—he’d rather keep his princess occupied with prettier things. No need to concern yourself with the the underbelly of what he now rules.

You’re not upset about it—you’re not really a fan of watching petty squabbles that’ll result in someone’s chest being imploded by a blaster. You’ve seen enough of it in the cantina, and while you were never the one tasked with clearing the bodies out—it was still mildly traumatizing. Eh—no need to dwell.

You’ve got other shit to do anyway.

There’s a seemingly endless zigzag of secret hallways and dusty rooms within the palace, teeming with strange knickknacks and ancient artifacts that are more than likely cursed. Definitely haunted—but it doesn’t stop you from exploring or sorting through the useless junk. Besides—Fennec stayed behind, acting as your glorified babysitter for the past few cycles—ensuring your safety from both whoever dared step foot into the palace and the ghosts. What a lovely woman.

Speaking of which—you hear her sigh and shuffle, shifting her weight onto her other foot as she leans back against a dusty crate. She picks at the dirt beneath her fingernails, lazily glancing up every now and then to check that you haven’t eviscerated yourself on a piece of scrap metal or something. Lucky for her, all you found today was an abandoned crate of old datapacs shoved in the back corner from what you assumed to be some sort of office. Yesterday you found a sword that was promptly confiscated.

“I’d be careful snooping around in those,” Fennec warns as your fingers find the on switch. “You never know what sorta data the Hutts were keeping here.”

You shrug and wave away her concern, reading over the information that flickers across the screen. “I think I’ll be ok…See?” You pointedly wave the datapac in her direction. “This one is about the finances. Spooky.”

Fennec rolls her eyes followed by an amused smirk that ghosts over her lips. You toss it aside and root around some more, pulling out another datapac. The blue hologram flickers to life and as you decipher the little lines of text your face falls. Each line is a name, previous and recently bought or traded people that crossed the threshold of the palace. Fennec was right. This isn’t fun anymore.

“These are…slaves.” Your lips curls in disgust. “How is this still not outlawed? It’s barbaric.”

“You’re not from Tatooine, are you?” Fennec asks as she meanders over and wrestles the datapac out of your hands. She switches it off and tosses it back into the dusty crate. You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“No,” you agree. “Im from Arkanis. But even there we don’t have slaves.”

Fennec squats beside you, her elbows resting over her bent knees. She playfully taps your shoulder with the back of her hand and quirks a brow. “What’d I tell you—snooping doesn’t do anyone any good.”

You roll your eyes and shrug, a frown still etched on your lips. Fennec sighs, rubs her chin and then reaches out to push a stray hair behind your ear. A flush blooms up your cheeks at the gentle touch.

“You have a sensitive soul, Kitten,” she chuckles, poking at your cheek that you’re certain she can feel the heat emirate from. “You said you were from Arkanis—tell me about it. Why come to Tatooine?”

Your lips quirk in a tiny smile as you bat away her pointer finger, saving your cheek from another poke. “Hey—not everyone likes rain ok?” You huff. “Besides, Tatooine wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

She nods. Unsure what exactly to tell her--a silence ensues. It’s not terribly awkward but it’s enough that makes you jumpy and itching to move on from this room now stained with information you weren’t prepared on finding. You stand suddenly, brush yourself off and mutter under your breath about finding something less…heartbreaking.

Fennec jumps up as well and when you leave the room her hand clamps over your shoulder. She spins you around and levels her gaze onto you. “You’re free to leave whenever you like. You know that right?”

Your brows furrow. “I know—don’t worry, I want to stay.”

Her head bobs with a satisfied nod. “We’d miss you if you left. You’re nice to have around.”

You blush again and mumble out a thank you, shooting off into another unexplored location to escape Fennec’s knowing smirk. Maker—you’re embarrassing.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Boba returns later that afternoon—the shadow of his familiar figure stretches around the curved stairway, the purposeful stomps of his boots against the carved steps following with it. Your heart flutters within your chest, like a distressed creature with wings as you jump from your makeshift seat.

You come face to face with Boba. Or, helmet rather—whatever.

The smell of hot metal and dry air sticks to him as he paces closer, closing the small gap that separates him from you. You’re frozen beneath the heavy weight of his stare behind the void like black of his visor as he plants himself firmly before you, close enough that his cuirass could brush your chest if he puffed out his own chest.

“Hi…” You smile, a fragile vale of uncertainty blanketing the pair of you—still attempting to feel out his mood, sort through the general gruffness of his personality and gage wether or not you could reach out and touch him. The helmet is a tricky thing to read and his body language gives nothing away. You swallow your nerves take a leaping risk.

“Let me see your face.” You murmur. You move your hands up to the edges of his helmet at a snail’s pace, giving him ample time to slip through your fingers—wedge a sharp thorn between whatever it is that you’ve built and name it for what it is.

He doesn’t choose that option.

With a low hum, Boba dips his helmet closer to your outstretched fingertips instead. The metal is cool under your palms as they fold over the sides of the helmet and pull up. The metal whispers against his skin like wind through tall grass as the point of his chin peeks out, followed by his lips, his nose, and finally those golden brown eyes. They glitter with amusement as you release a shaky breath, the helmet the only thing acting as a barrier as you clutch it near your sternum. His mouth quirks when you blush and glance away—focusing on the little silvery nicks the green paint refused to cover. You rub your thumb over the blaster pockmark that dents the metal—you frown. You hope that wasn’t recent.

Boba gently pries the helmet out of your hands and sets it onto the armrest of his throne. He purrs your name and pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, leading your attention back to him. Your eyes flit up his scars—your breath catching in your throat as he smiles.

“Hello, princess,” he says—the grit and timbre of this new nickname jumpstarting your heart to skip and choke on its own tireless beat.

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shake your head. “Boba, I’m not—“

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence—

Boba spreads his fingers over your jaw, tilts your head and swoops down to meet your lips in a dizzying kiss. Hard, hungry, victorious, breathless—like he’s spent years fighting and only now takes a moment to slow down—drown in the softness of your lips and skin. His hands claw at your arms, your clothes, your hair—like you’re the spoils of battle and he fears losing you to the shadows of his past and some hidden horror that nips at his heels. He kisses like a man terrified that this will be brief, intangible and something that’ll abandon him.

He trails after your lips when you break away—your lungs heaving for precious air. He doesn’t let you go far, ensuring your positioning by tangling his fist into your hair at the nape of your neck and scraping his lips up your cheek, enticing you into another kiss. You tilt you chin to meet him with equal fervor, whining as his warm tongue curls sweetly into your mouth. His existence fills your veins with liquid silver—evokes the bloom of crackling star fire beneath the cavity of your ribcage. Every thought starts with him and ends with your heart aching to burst into a million tiny shards.

The next time you part, Boba is the first one to pull away. He cups your cheeks between his weathered hands and plants a tender kiss just below your hairline. You swear you can feel the skin buzz from the touch—like every atom in your being was solely created for him to command and conquer. You sigh and lean into his palm.

“I missed you.” You admit with a small smile.

Boba leans closer and presses another kiss to your forehead. “And I you, little one.”

“I got worried, y’know,” you continue, your fingers tapping a trail up the front of his chest plate. You trace the repainted insignia with your fingernail and flash him a coy smirk. “You never called—thought maybe you found a new pretty thing.”

He grunts, shakes his head and sweeps a rogue strand of hair behind your ear. “Hilarious—my hands are full enough with you hounding me every five minutes.”

You puff out your bottom lip and feign offense, mumbling some lame whine like a petulant brat. Boba snorts and crowds closer. He presses his gloved thumb between your furrowed brows, smoothing out the wrinkles and then cups your cheeks between both palms. You freeze as he carefully knocks the crown of his forehead onto yours—it’s sweet.

An excited smile splits when he moves his head to your right, the syllables of each word rolling off his tongue sweeter than spiced honey. “I’ll make it up to you, pretty thing,” he whispers by your ear, his warm breath disturbing the fine hairs there. “How does that sound, hm?”

That’s not even a question you would ever dream of denying—you quickly nod. “I’d like that.”

Boba drops his hands from your face and peels himself away. His eyes trickle down your figure—calculative and analytic—planning out each move to pick apart the entirety of your being. “Take everything off.”

You comply without a second thought—slipping free from the breezy cotton and scratchy poncho you stole from a storage room. The fabric pools at your feet in an unceremonious pile—leaving you bare for him. Despite the sickening dry heat that pollutes the air and causes beads of sweat to gather at your hairline—goosebumps rush up your arms under Boba’s piercing stare.

Boba’s eyes flicker to the throne. A feral grin tugs at his lips. “Sit.”

This time you hesitate. Did he…? No—you must’ve heard wrong—

He quirks a brow and gestures to the throne. “Well? Are you going to listen?”

Your tongue slides over your chapped lips. “O-ok..I just—never mind…”

Scrounging up some courage, you gingerly seat yourself onto Boba Fett’s throne. Chills race along the entirety of your body as the freezing metal seeps into your warm flesh. You squirm and beat away the urge to wrap your arms around yourself—he wouldn’t like that—probably would take it as some sort of insult anyway—

All your current discomforts melt away in a fraction of a breath as Boba Fett lowers himself to one knee, and then the other. A king kneeling before his very own throne for someone like you. Someone who’ll be lost to the pages of history and the endless swirl of galaxies and supernovas—you’re nobody to the world, but to him you��re everything. You inhale a shaky breath as a strange stroke of pride alights through your body as he peels off his gloves and maneuvers himself flush against the edge of the throne and between your thighs.

Boba bows forward and slips his calloused hands around your ribcage to tug you closer. His lips land over your collar bone, slides his tongue over the protrusion then sinks his teeth into you there. You gasp as he slides lower, leading a trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake. Boba moves his palms, up and in to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples. A whimper escapes past your lips as he catches the pebbled bud between his lips, the hard enamel of his teeth scraping over it—meant to tease. Your nails dig into the fabric bunched around his neck as he moves on to suck your other nipple, the cooling saliva sending a chill down your spine as it dries.

You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core. You’re already wet—worked up and impatient. You roll your head back onto your shoulders and bite your lip. If you complain and tell him to hurry up you’re scared he’ll leave you like this—deny you that pleasure you’ve been craving for days.

It feels like ages before he moves on from your breasts, now smattered with bruises and his saliva, and carves out a blinding path down your sternum, your belly, then your navel with his tongue. Boba circles your bellybutton—you force down the ticklish nerves and stay still for him.

You don't mean to jump as his rough hands drop over your knees. You barely get out the first syllable of an apology when his hands slip up your bare thighs, curl around the swell of your ass and yank. You squeak as the edge of the throne bites into your tailbone, the majority of your lower half forced to lean on Boba’s shoulders and his greedy hands. He kisses the inside of your knee—you jolt with an airy gasp.

Boba picks up his head and smirks. “Look at me when I taste you, little one.”

Mouth suddenly drier than dust, you nod dumbly.

He hums, satisfied with your weak response and continues on.

Boba’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver. They sweep up towards the apex of your thighs, settling close enough to reach your aching center. You know he’s there—it’s impossible to ignore him—but you curse anyway when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They steadily work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

“Patience, princess,” he rumbles, shifting his weight to better reach your cunt. “Maker—you’re dripping already.”

There's a moment just before Boba commits, his face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, hot breath, anticipation gripping your chest. And then he licks a broad stripe from the base of your pussy all the way up to your swollen clit.

His mouth Is searing, his tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his head. He grunts against you as you drag him closer—greedy for everything he deems you worthy of. Boba’s mouth pinpoints around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter—it’s a struggle not to shut them completely. He asked you to watch after all…

He then trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your entrance, skips over it completely to lick at the wetness dripping lower that threatens to pool onto the throne or the floor. He opens his mouth wide and hums in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life.

“Fuck—Boba,” you cry, canting your hips into his mouth.

It's perfect. So fucking good.

The tips of his thick fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the fluttering ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The two digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness, glinting in the low light. With a smirk, Boba thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that he refuses to stray from. It leaves you just hovering along the sharp edge of oblivion, the catch of his knuckles and calloused skin along your walls pure torture. Stars—he’s going to be the death of you—

Your hips arch into him, trying to urge him to go faster. Instead, he slowly retracts his fingers and removes his mouth. You gasp in frustration as your cunt clenches around thin air. It almost hurts.

“I told you to be patient,” Boba chuckles, massaging a warm palm along the outside of your thigh. “You’re behaving like a brat.”

“I’m—I—I’m sorry—“ You wheeze, trying to rope in some self control that fled a long time ago. Your wits are scrapped thin as you throw your hand against the back of the throne. You don’t care that he’s rendered you to a begging mess, your words slurred and hardly understandable. You're so close to diving off the edge—so near to those plush lips and weathered hands that’ll surely become your salvation. "Please! P-please—I need..."

You're babbling as he drags his fingertips over your thigh, skims over your cunt, and traces a pattern into your opposite thigh. "Boba. Fuck. I pro-promise to be better—I can do it. Please—“

He complies.

Two fingers are thrust up into your dripping cunt, curving so deliciously into something that feels like unrefined plasma bolts. His mouth dips down and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight.

You're flying off you’re high, faster than a fucking speeder with tampered gears. You cum onto his tongue with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Boba keeps licking you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Stars implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jetfuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Boba, and feel the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss and fuzzy pleasure as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it hurts. You're too sensitive. Your nerves are rubbed raw and you're still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. He takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a blade against flesh. Your thighs quiver around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves that wrenches a cry from you. Your orgasm floods through you veins, bursting and rupturing every cell in your being. This one is blistering—charrs all the way to the fucking bone. Your core pulses around Boba’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease into a dull throb. You whimper and push at his forehead because he's still licking at your cunt. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

Boba leaves absolutely no time to completely float down from your high—you squeak as his hands shoot up to grab at your hips, wrenching you off the throne and all but throwing you onto the same floor he kneels on. You flash him a dopey grin, letting your legs fall open for his enjoyment—

“Such a filthy princess,” he chuckles, extending a hand to cover your knee, bending it further out to expose more of your flushed cunt. “You taste sweeter than star cherries.”

You preen at his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

It earns you an amused huff. Boba scrapes the hand resting on your knee to the apex of your legs, thumb and forefinger gently parting your delicate, slick folds. You bite back a keening whine, utterly exposed to him as he slips the hood back from the throbbing knot of nerves at the top of your slit. Too raw. Your pussy clenches involuntarily, causing everything from your toes to your hips stiffen. Boba hums in delight at his handiwork.

“Stars, Boba—please…” You beg, voice breathy and soft like whips of spider silk. Boba makes a sound that oozes with smug pleasure, teasing your sore clit with unadulterated glee. “Please,” you hear yourself whimper over your pounding pulse, shifting in his grasp and praying he’ll put an end to this sickly sweet torture.

“Pretty little thing, begging for my cock…” He rasps, darkly threaded sin and the husky scrape of the gray sea licking up jagged, black rock. You’re certain he could talk you into unraveling at the seams, untouched and putty in his hands for him to mold and shape. Boba’s other hand sweeps up your sternum, his fingertips dancing along the mythosaur pendant coiled around your neck. He then curls his thick fingers around the base of your throat and ever so lightly squeezes. “Poor baby—all worked up after a few days…I’ll fix that for you.”

Before you can fully process, he grabs the swell of your hip and flips you onto your belly. The air from your lungs is knocked out of your chest, the abrasive sandstone bitting into the points of your elbows and patches of your skin and no doubt leaving behind irritated scrapes. You hear the shuffle of fabric and then Boba suddenly seizes your hips and arches them into his crotch, grinding the deliciously hard length of his cock through your wet folds. Throbbing and just as desperate as you are, Boba refrains from flinging you into another bout of teasing. He slicks himself up with your arousal and drags the tip of himself to your clenching center and sinks that first, glorious inch inside of you.

With a low groan, Boba pushes in deeper, watching your tight hold flutter and accommodate his thick length. It’s the same as before during that night in the cantina—dreadfully full and all but bursting at the seems. The gentle rocks of his hips and gravelly praise eventually allow him to finally bottom out, his sharp hipbones resting against the swell of your ass as you shudder and groan. Fuck—

You can feel him in your fucking guts.

Boba grants you a brief moment to settle and then—it’s catastrophic.

Your jaw drops in a silent scream when he pulls back, all the way to the tip and slams back into your tight heat. Boba’s hand tangles into your hair at the nape of your neck and and pulls, forcing your back into a sharp arch. The action leaves more of you open, somehow pressing in even further. He hits so deeply within you—stars it feels like he’s splitting you open and laying you bare.

His dark chuckle resonates above you—a bit breathy as he tames his own frazzled nerves. “Shit—that feels good. Doesn’t it, princess?”

Your incoherent babble makes him laugh as he gives your hair a playful tug, all the while he never stops thrusting in and out of you. You wiggle your hips, the slight shift makes it ache, and the sharp downward thrusts put delirious pressure on that patch of nerves that renders you dizzy. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s a tightly spooled cable, fraying and an inch away from snapping. Your gasping breaths pitch into airy squeaks as the fist twisted in your hair tightens, tugging your head back just a bit more.

Boba lurches foreword, the nip of beskar a frigid shock to the bare skin of your back when he lays over you, his elbows caging you in close. His head drops onto your shoulder blade, pressing sloppy kisses over the arch of your throat and slope of your shoulder—without warning he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck. Maker save you—

The feral drag of Boba’s teeth digging into your sensitive flesh skin makes you squeeze around his cock—Boba answers with a soft growl that vibrates against the skin of your shoulder. Somehow he fucks into you harder, his pace becoming brutal. Your nails scrabble against the floor, searching for some sort of anchor as you wail under him.

It’s too much—fuck, you’re gonna implode. Pinned between the rough sandstone and the hand in in your hair, mixed with the sharp pain of his teeth marring your skin—you loose it. Sensing your peaking orgasm, Boba’s fingers wedge between your legs to toy with your clit. He rubs quick circles with two fingers as he purrs words of filth into your ear—how good his pretty thing is for him, how well you came for him, how tight you are.

“There you go, little one,” Boba says, his words like a tendril of dark smoke. “Cum for your king.”

His efforts are quickly rewarded as you shudder and lock up harder than durasteel beneath him. A blinding surge of vicious heat, knocks you clean off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs as your nails dig into the sandstone—trembling and grappling blindly for a foothold in your own head. The cold chest plate is a much needed anchor for the overwhelming intensity that threatens to drown you and bury you six fix under.

He bites down again when he cums, his hips digging into you with short, rough jabs. “Fuck—you take me so well.” You squirm, feeling his cock throb and spill into you, making the mess between your legs smear over your thighs. His thrusts stutter to a stop as he sighs deeply and pulls out, a mixture of his cum and your arousal spilling onto the floor. Boba huffs above you, drags a finger through your swollen folds and pushes it back inside of you. “Good girl.”

You shiver—reduced to a useless puddle with no intent from moving off the floor as Boba’s weight moves away. You could sleep here—that’s something completely plausible you think. Nice, warm dirt—

Boba purrs your name—the sound piquing your interest enough that you overcome the heaviness that’s settled in your body and move your head. He’s returned to his throne, cheeks a bit flushed and his chest rising and falling to recover precious air. You watch as Boba peels off his cuirass with practiced ease, and lays it with care onto the floor. He murmurs your name a second time and pats his lap, coaxing you off the floor.

You happily slither onto his thighs, exhausted and all too eager to be swept up into the warmth of his arms. He grunts as you tuck your head under his chin and cuddle into his chest, relishing the rough scrape of his palms folding over your shoulder and the outside of your thigh. His soft breaths tickle the top of your head paired with the quiet, but steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your fingertips and ear pressed onto his sternum. Your eyes flutter shut and though a hushed silence falls over the room, there’s nothing to be said.

Boba tucks his nose into your hair and you smile, the slow speak of your heart unraveling into a lush garden of something new and brittle—like flakes of frost in the early morning sun. He’s more bruise than bleed nowadays—a wound closed then reopened and he promises nothing of a future beyond what you have in these moments. And yet—

You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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